Kaw-liga was a wooden Indian standing by the door.He fell in love with an Indian maid over at the antique store.Kaw -- Li -- Ga, just stood there and never let it show;So she could never answer "Yes" or "No".

He always wore his Sunday feathers and held a tommy-hawk.The maiden wore her beads and braids and hoped someday he'd talk.Kaw -- Li -- Ga, too stubborn to ever show a sign;Because his heart was made of knotty pine.

Poor ol' Kaw-liga, he never got a kiss.Poor ol' Kaw-liga, he don't know what he missed.Is it any wonder that his face is red;Kaw-liga, that poor ol' wooden head.

Kaw-liga was a lonely Indian never went nowhere.His heart was set on the Indian maiden with the coal black hair.Kaw-liga, just stood there and never let it show;So she could never answer "Yes" or "No".

Then one day a wealthy customer bought the Indian maid.And took her, oh, so far away, but ol' Kaw-liga stayed.Kaw -- Li -- Ga, just stands there as lonely as can be,And wishes he was still an old pine tree.

Poor ol' Kaw-liga, he never got a kiss.Poor ol' Kaw-liga, he don't know what he missed.Is it any wonder that his face is red;Kaw-liga, that poor ol' wooden head.

Note: The G in "Kaw-liga" is soft, pronounced "kaw-lye-jah".

This is Elsa's greatest motivator for dance and choreography ("like this"). It also works as our night-time lullaby. Kaw-liga is also my favorite inspirational, during long drive thoughts of art-making.